


Rites of [Pass]age

by Arsenic



Category: Bandom, Cobra Starship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-10-04
Updated: 2008-10-04
Packaged: 2020-10-21 06:17:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20688887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arsenic/pseuds/Arsenic
Summary: Character piece written for the Daysofawesome challenge, '08.





	Rites of [Pass]age

Gabe lost his accent when he was seven. It wasn't as if he left it at the bus stop one day, or anything--although, in his memories, it kind of feels that way--he just slowly started sounding more like the kids around him, and while they may have mostly been immigrant kids, the meshing of their accents became something that was just Jersey, really.

When he was eleven, a girl he knew from the Hebrew school his mom insisted he attend saw him eating rice on Passover and told him he wasn't a real Jew. Gabe said, "My _mom_ is Jewish." His dad was too, but he had figured out that it was his mom that counted for something.

The girl rolled her eyes and said, "Real Jews don't eat chametz on Pesach."

Gabe opened his mouth to tell her that Uruguayan Jews did, but realized, suddenly, that he wasn't so sure. He couldn't remember Uruguay all that well, not much more than the color of the walls in his room or the smell of the flowers his mom had grown near the front door. American Jews were different, he had figured that out, but Gabe had lived in America since he was four, he spoke English and people never seem to call him the names that some of the other Latino kids in his school had to put up with, so maybe he _was_ an American Jew.

By the time Gabe had realized that the best defense was just to tell her that her top didn't match her pants, she was already gone, off to socialize with her other Real Jew friends. Gabe took a bite of his rice. It was cold.

*

"I like your hips," Mikey mumbles, his lips grazing over Gabe's ear. He's plastered to Gabe, the two of them moving, Gabe on rhythm, Mikey really not. They're both drunk as well, although Mikey's not so drunk that Gabe'll have to feel guilty about taking him home if Mikey offers.

Gabe laughs. "That's because you have gringo hips."

"True," Mikey says, and doesn't give him shit like the girls who slide into the clubs speaking Spanish with each other. Sometimes Gabe worries that taking the path of least resistance makes him White.

*

His mom may have forced the Hebrew School issue, but the Saporta's are not and never were much for synagogue attendance. When Gabe was fourteen he asked, "How are we Jewish? If we never do anything Jewish how are we Jewish?"

"We have Seders," his father told him.

"So do Seventh-Day Adventists." Gabe didn't know any, but he'd read about it in a newspaper article looking at the different Seder traditions.

His father looked unsure of how to give him an answer that would satisfy him. "Gabriel. Being Jewish, in Uruguay, it wasn't-- Jews there, it's more about helping others. They call it something here... Secular Humanism. We're Jews because of how we act."

Gabe shook his head. "We're _human_ because of how we act."

*

"I don't celebrate Christmas," Gabe says in response to the interviewer's question. He hasn't really been paying attention, he thinks the guy asked something about Christmas presents. He could have just let it go, just answered something generic, but Gabe _doesn't_ celebrate Christmas, and at odd, unpredictable moments, it really pisses him off that people assume he does.

Nate ducks his head and raises an eyebrow at Gabe. The media never pays attention to Nate, so he knows exactly what he can get away with. Gabe pays attention. He gives a slight shake of his head and makes a joke for the reporter and everything's fine, everything's cool. Gabe is just being Gabe.

He lets Ryland and Alex ford most of the rest of the interview.

*

It's Victoria, though, who says, "It doesn't make you any less Jewish, just because they can't see it."

"No, I'm pretty sure that's the fact that I don't practice," Gabe tells her, a practiced snicker on his face.

She says, "Be an asshole all you like. I have a good point."

She does, but Gabe also knows, "Nobody has to look twice at you to know you're a woman."

"Yes, because having tits in this scene is all it's made out to be. No, really." She looks deeply unimpressed, and Gabe knows he could take her, but he would never even try. His mom would _kill_ him if she found out he'd hit a girl. And she would. His mom has serious powers of the mind.

Gabe thinks about not saying anything, about letting it go, letting her have her way. Gabe has seen her come away from parties with bruises that weren't there before, seen her fucking _dare_ him with her eyes to say anything. In the end, though, he can't, and finds himself saying quietly, "But it's who you are."

Just when Gabe's pretty sure she's not going to have an answer for that, she says, "Yeah. But only the part of me they can see."

*

Gabe has a menorah that his mother bought him when he was thirteen. She said, "For your bar mitzvah."

Gabe said, "I didn't have one." He'd been invited to a few, sure, but that was about as far as it had gone.

She had smiled and tucked a curl behind his ear. "Hasn't stopped you from becoming a Jewish man."

The menorah isn't kosher, the candle holders not of a level, but it is austere, plain pewter with a Mogen David carved into the base. Gabe has always put it in a place of prominence in his apartments. He understands, he thinks, how it feels to be made for a purpose, and yet not entirely suited to fulfill that purposes.

Gabe often forgets to find out when Hanukah falls, finds out about halfway through from someone else--his father, or a news reporter doing a human interest piece--but if he's home at all during the nights it falls on, he'll light the menorah, all nine candles, regardless of where the world actually is in the holiday. He puts it in his window and wonders if other people see, and if anyone feels comforted by the bright, uneven fires, doing the best they can.


End file.
